She turned on him sharply. She was shorter than most of her subordinates, and in this instance she was able to take full advantage of the man’s modest stature. “I can’t give you what we don’t have, Falu. You know better than I what’s in the storehouses. And despite the desperateness of the situation here, I have to keep in mind the needs of other communities besides Taulau.”
He flinched, but only for a moment. “I understand, Administrator. I only want to do my best.”
“Nobody else on staff could handle this any better than you are, Falu.” There, she thought. That ought to satisfy him, even if she was obviously grading him on a curve that began and ended with him.
It did. “Thank you, Administrator. I assure you I will do my utmost to justify your continuing faith in . . .”
But the administrator had lengthened her stride, and his words were lost in the cacophony of mewling, hooting Deyzara.
Port Administration’s offices were a refuge from both the sound and smell of the refugee flood. She embraced it readily, if not gracefully, as she pushed back the hood of her rain cape, striding straight over to Harriman’s desk. Looking more than a little disheveled, the younger woman was in no mood for formalities. That was fine with Matthias, who felt similarly. Though engrossed in a tridee projection, Harriman, Matthias noted right away, was carrying a side arm. Stopping in front of the desk, she gestured in its direction and spoke without ceremony.
“Expecting trouble, Nichole?”
“Prepare for every eventuality. That’s what the handbooks tell you.” The tired blonde smiled wanly. “They just don’t prepare you for an eventuality like this.”